More Than Ordinary
by Pereybere
Summary: They could be so much more than ordinary. Hodgela.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **More Than Ordinary

**Disclaimer: **Blah.

**Rating: **Just T.

**A/N: **I like Angela and Hodgins. I hope you all do, too.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"Angela."

Her hands stilled over the keyboard, the sound of his voice brought a momentary feeling of contentment that settled in her chest, slipping down into her stomach. She closed her eyes, listening to the rustle of his clothes as he moved towards her. She inhaled deeply. There had been so much stress today. So many professional factors to worry about, that she had almost forgot to breathe. Almost forgot that life existed outside of the building she worked in.

"I'm almost finished," she said at last, curling her fingers, easing away from the keyboard. When she turned her head, the sight of him brought all the individual emotions aroused by his voice together, and they convened, tightened like a ball of intense light inside her stomach. She was not supposed to feel like this about Jack Hodgins. She didn't understand it – for he wasn't the type of man she'd ordinarily find herself attracted to. And for a long time, she did not. But after a string of failed relationships – or even just dates – with men who didn't understand who she was or why she did she job she did, it was nice to be understood. Appreciated. Respected.

"Brennan asked me to come find you. She's…" Angela nodded, surprised by how close he stood to her desk. She smelt his cologne, mixed with an earthy scent that somehow, did not repulse her. She knew that he'd probably been sifting through dirt for the entire afternoon. But as she looked into his eyes, entirely pure and as flawless as pure cut topaz gems, she found herself willing to forget what his job entailed. Perhaps she had done long ago.

"I know. She needs a face. I'm running it through the software now." He slipped his hands into his lab coat, rocking back and forward, his jaw flexing as he searched for something witty or charming to say. "Are you…?" She didn't know what to say either. And it was the lack of progressive conversation that hammered the truth of her feelings home. Jack wasn't just her goofy, sometimes nutty colleague. She had a crush. A crush that turned her sexual powers to mush and left her speechless.

"See you later, then?" Jack asked, pulling his hands from his pockets, flexing his fingers. She noticed that he did this when he was anxious.

"Tell Bren I will be ten minutes, maximum," she replied, her heart fluttering. She needed to be alone. Alone to absorb the implications of her feelings. However much he sometimes irritated her, she was strangely drawn to his quirky personality. And drawn physically, too. "I just need to finish up…" He nodded, turning on his heel, the royal blue curtain of his lab coat flying behind him as he strode him her office, leaving behind a linger scent of himself, and an emotional change in her.

Angela was still for about six minutes, watching the computer monitor, as though she expected the Jeffersonian's vetruvian man logo to provide her with some kind of logical insight. Brennan was supposed to be the logical woman in the department. Angela, well she was supposed to be impulsive. If she thought she had feelings for Hodgins, she would normally have rode with them, seen where her own personality took her. But now, dropping her chin into her palm, she realised she didn't have the courage to jump head first into a whimsical relationship with him.

And why, she wondered. Was it because she thought her peculiar emotions that she had never felt before could be the real thing? It was a lack of such feelings that prevented her from ever agreeing to marry Kirk.

Sighing, she altered a few lines on her facial reconstruction and printed, listening to the whir of the LaserJet, her fingers trembling as she picked the page off the tray and slipped it into a plastic portfolio. The only pro of having a mixture of inexplicable feelings towards Jack was that she'd been able to forget the horrific murders that had fallen upon her desk in the past few days. Booth and the FBI boys, it seemed, were kept busy with the lunatics roaming their streets.

The team, including Dr Saroyan, sat around a frosted glass table in the gallery, their fingers linked atop the table, the tension palpable, for it was no secret that there was quite often nothing to say when Brennan and Cam were put in the same room together. Camille perhaps dubious of Brennan and her literal dosage of everything. And Brennan knew she was the best anthropologist in the country. She knew Camille had a different speciality and she didn't like anyone treading on her territory.

"Sorry I took so long," Angela said, taking her place next to Zach. "The skull was so badly damaged that it was difficult to reconstruct with any definitive accuracy." Booth was nodding his head like an impatient nodding dog, and next to him, Brennan nudged his elbow and he shot her a glare. "Here she is." Angela passed her rendered image, printed on photographic paper, across the table to Brennan, knowing that, as the boss, Camille ought to have gotten first glance. Angela just didn't like to think that the battle for superiority had become so petty.

Booth leaned over, peering at the girl with a sombre expression. She wasn't perhaps the most attractive woman they'd had to reconstruct. She wasn't ugly, Angela thought, just plain. She had the average features of a person who could easily go unnoticed. With thin lips, a straight nose and average eyes, Angela felt more remorse for their unknown victim than most, simply because the girl was a person who would never be picked out of a crowd, yet someone had selected her. Selected her for murder.

"She looks familiar," Booth said at last, releasing a hissing breath. "Do you have any copies of this, Angela?" he looked at her, and she straightened, her thoughts brought back to the present.

"I can print you some off, yeah." Sweeping her gaze towards Cam, Angela met Jack's eye, saw how he focused on her and a hot blush crept along her cheeks. "Do you need me for anything else?" Camille shook her head.

"No. In fact, I was hoping our little meeting would be short. I have work to do. Why are we here?" Brennan frowned.

"You asked to be kept in the loop," she explained. "This is us, keeping you in the loop." Camille sighed, a tepid little hiss that was barely audible. As she descended the stairs, Brennan pushed her own chair back, standing and straightening her spine. "I guess she doesn't deem you work valuable enough, Angela. Careful, or she'll be looking for your replacement too." Given her statement, they each expected to hear a hint of malice in Brennan's tone. But there was none. As she gathered her papers together, it were almost as though she were merely pointing out a scientific fact.

"Right-i-o," Booth said, not quite sure how he ought to respond. "Be ready to leave in fifteen minutes, Bones, once I get this photo…" Brennan nodded, descending the stairs after Cam. "Ready Angela?"

She nodded, crossing her arms across her stomach, holding the plastic portfolio against her. "I could probably do some more modifications, if you have time?" She struggled to maintain his pace, for Booth prowled like a trapped tiger when he was wired. She sensed that he was closing in on a vital piece of information. It was times like these that she liked being part of a team that fought crime. Even if the emotional ramifications were a harsh penalty to pay for job satisfaction.

"Fifteen minutes," he repeated, "whatever you can do in fifteen minutes." When they were away from the laboratory floor, and the corridors became quieter and less crowded, Booth exhaled a long sigh that seemed to be carried by the high ceilings and long walls. "Is it getting to you?" he asked, turning his all-knowing eyes to her. Angela had no desire to hide her blatant attraction towards the suave, sinewy FBI agent. She felt no emotional connection to him aside from friendship and concern, but as a woman, she decided, she was allowed to look.

"If by 'it' you mean the constant feeling of death that permeates from these walls, then yes, it is," she replied. "Again." Booth shrugged broad shoulders inside his jacket. His shoulders were still stiff, but apparently he found it easier to talk about others than himself.

"No," he said, "by 'it' I mean the raving tension between you and Hodgins. What's going on with _that_, Angela?" She was startled, some what caught off guard, because Booth was business to the core. Personal relationships were strictly for outside of the office.

"Has Jack put you up to this?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously. Booth smirked, holding her office door open for her, his eyebrow lifting. Angela sighed, her shoulders falling as if she were releasing a air from a balloon. "There is no tension. It's purely imagined." Booth watched as she pulled her chair close to her desk and shook her mouse, removing the screensaver. Her fingers rapidly clicked her password. Within seconds her rendered image was on the screen. "I think original sketch of her nose might have been a little off… and maybe her chin was more pointed, less round. But she was definitely an ordinary girl…" Booth pulled a chair across her office, setting it next to her desk.

"Nothing is ever ordinary, Angela," he said, slightly reproaching. "Not all women are feisty and confident or extraordinary." She dropped her eyes to the keyboard. "Whoever this girl is, she did look plain. Perhaps she wasn't the most genetically beautiful woman in the world. But someone wanted her." Angela nodded.

"Wanted her to kill." Booth had voiced her thoughts, and her spine tingled. "I'm going to arch her eyebrows, in case she groomed them. Give you a different hair colour. I've drawn her brunette, but perhaps she's blonde…" Booth nodded, watching as the computer software changed the image in accordance with her commands. "So," Angela said, "why are you so curious about Jack and I? Has he said something?" Booth held his head in his hands, his eyes never leaving the screen.

"Everyone has noticed. Everyone except Bones, and lets face it, she's about as relationship savvy as a nun. She'd need to walk in on the two of you… you know…" he forced his finger through a ring he'd made with his other thumb and forefinger. Angela found his sign language too graphic and blanched. "Even Zach is asking questions." She massaged her temples.

"Everyone knows," she whispered and Booth smiled.

"Knows what? That you and Hodgie are fighting your urges?" She glared.

"You _know_ about that?" Booth nodded with an expression that said 'unfortunately so'. Angela groaned, muffling her face with her hands, peeking at him through her opened her fingers.

"Brennan has been asking me why it is acceptable for you to use names like Hodgie and she can't call me, and I quote, 'Boothie'. She wonders if there is anthropological meanings behind pet-names. As you can imagine, it's not really what I need. Bones has the intelligence of a robot and the social understanding of a chimpanzee." Angela dropped her hands, her lips tight. As they fell silent, she commanded her computer to print her amended sketches.

"She does lack a lot in the social department," Angela agreed. "I'm sorry Booth." She didn't know why she ought to apologise – except that she hated others being drawn into her warped issues with her colleague. "Jack and I… we're trying to find our feet. Trying to understand what's…" she shrugged. "It feels quite extraordinary." Booth smiled, and the LaserJet finished its task.

"Yes," he said, taking the printed sheets into his hands. "Nothing is ever ordinary." He lifted the photos into the air in a semi-wave. "Thanks." She wondered at his repetition and found herself contemplating his philosophy. Perhaps she should have been embracing all experiences in life, especially if it meant feeling what extraordinary was, instead of hiding from it.

As if possessing a sixth sense, Angela knew the moment she was no longer alone in her office. "Is everything alright, Jack?" she asked, her skin prickling with an odd sense of anticipation. Her conversation with Booth had brought her feelings, and the situation, to a peculiar kind of conclusion.

"Angela," when he spoke, he was much closer than she had expected, and when she turned, he stood behind her, looking down that the crown of her head. She stood, hating that she felt so vulnerable.

With their bodies so close, the tension between them mounted, and Jack's eyes roved her face. "Is everything…?" she began to ask her question again, and he shook his head.

"No." Her lips parted, and he leaned forward, close enough to feel her hurried breath against his skin. Bridging the gap between their mouths, he brushed his lips against hers, and she inhaled, her lungs burning. Somehow, it felt as though Hodgins' kiss could be the most important in her life. Angela's eyes fluttered closed, his fingers sinking into her hair, pulling her face close to his. He tasted of coffee and something sweet.

When their lips parted, he was smiling, his topaz blue eyes sparkled as though they were combined with the brilliance of diamonds. Leaning forward, he kissed the tip of her nose, and took three steps back. "That felt good," he said, almost to himself. She nodded. "Goodnight Ange." When he was gone, and her legs had stopped shaking, she exhaled a sigh that was followed by a breathless giggle.

Nothing about Hodgins was ordinary, she knew. And their relationship, if she allowed herself to have one, would be more than just ordinary, too.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Don't be lazy. Push the button babies!


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **More Than Ordinary

**Disclaimer: **I refuse to lie and say I don't own them. Because I do.

**Rating: **T

**A/N: **A second helping of Hodgela for those of you who wanted it. And a little more shippery than before, too! So many of you noticed that I wanted someone to acknowledge the budding romance. I don't think there are enough Angela/Booth moments out there. I think they make great friends.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"I could take you out to an expensive Italian restaurant," Jack said, hovering in the doorway. "But you're too cute for all that preened-to-the-point-of-pain stuff." Angela wrapped her scarf around her neck, ruffling her layered hair with her fingers.

"You're right. Who needs starched linen and vintage wines when there's a perfectly good cheap and cheerful restaurant just ten minutes walk from here?" Their eyes met and he smiled, offering her the new aubergine coloured coat that she'd bought. Angela slipped her arms into her coat, tucking her scarf into the collar.

"Italiano?" Jack asked and she linked her arm with his. It felt odd, in a sense, to be so at ease with him. She ought to have been experiencing the pre-date jitters. But with Jack, it were almost as though she were going to be eating dinner with the same man she had dinner with almost every night since joining the Jeffersonian Institute. Mostly at Wong Fu's.

"I'm easy," she said with a shrug and he looked at her sideways, his spectacular blue eyes twinkling in the high voltage laboratory light.

"I hope not. I always imagined you were a woman with virtues." She chuckled, shaking her head. He felt warm and solid by her side, like a sturdy, reliable companion that she'd never had before. It felt peculiar yet nicer than she could have put words to. "I've been looking forward to night, Angela, for a long time," Jack revealed, the electronic doors hissing open and releasing them to the chilly October night. Their breath rose in white, condensing puffs and she buried her chin inside her coiled scarf.

"You only… kissed me yesterday," she said, finding it difficult to speak of their illicit office kiss. It was forbidden, and Angela suspected Camille wouldn't have been in approval of such interoffice goings on. Hodgins had never been a man who worked by the rules.

"I've been waiting much longer than that, I'm afraid." She felt a tingle in her spine, wondering how long their mutual attraction had been growing for. How foolish they had been, dancing around in fear of the other not reciprocating the whirlwind of frenzied emotions. How much time they had wasted. She almost felt sad.

"How long?" She wasn't sure why the question escaped her lips, and apparently Jack wasn't expecting it either for his head spun, his eyes settling on her face.

"Awhile Ange," he said, nodding softly. "I'm just glad… relieved maybe… that you agreed to come on a date with me at all. You're…" he stopped and she understood what he wanted to say. Angela had been told by so many men that they felt she was out of their league.

"There's no reason why I wouldn't have agreed," she said, bumping his arm with her own. For a long few moments, their footsteps was the only sound between them, moving across the asphalt and along the street. The silence was comfortable, and she felt at ease. "Jack?" He hummed, blinking slowly. "Thanks for… being you." There was no specific reason why she said what she did. She felt so random, that she had to continue. "You eyes are the colour of zircon in this light." Angela gestured to the street lamps overhead. "As an artist, I know how difficult that colour would be to recreate." Jack parted his lips as though he wanted to speak, but nothing emerged and he just smiled. "Lets have dinner."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Favourite movie?" Hodgins asked, replenishing her wine. Angela removed a drop of tomato and basil sauce from her lip, contemplating. "I imagine some chick flick with all handsome men and unlucky in love women. Nothing gory and certainly nothing technical." Jack returned to smearing pesto over his pasta, and she watched him tip the green sauce, her heart fluttering.

"I wish I were Brennan right now. Then I could pretend that I don't watch movies," she said. "I wish you were wrong and I could surprise you with some deep, intelligent response, but alas, I say with reddened cheeks, my favourite movie has to be a cringe-worthy…" she paused.

"Pretty Woman?" he guessed and she exhaled.

"Damn you Jack." He chuckled, the sound gruff and warm.

"You don't need to surprise me with anything, Angela. You surprise me every day with just being you." She smiled fondly, too involved in their light banter to be concerned with her cooling pasta. "Was that terribly mushy and not macho enough?" Jack asked, and she shrugged.

"Just a little, but I appreciate the effort." He smirked, lifting his glass.

"To learning new and extraordinary things about each other," he said and she tapped the edge of his glass with her own, her eyes becoming hooded with contemplation. "Is everything alright, Angela?" Hodgins asked, leaning close, his face fully illuminated by the flicking flame that capped the top of their candle.

"Everyone seems preoccupied with extraordinary things, these days," she said, glancing around the restaurant. "Extraordinary people, extraordinary features, extraordinary relationships," she looked at him now, settling the full weight of her gaze on him, "extraordinary love." Hodgins held his glass midair, caught quite unawares. "I mean," Angela hurried, "I'm not saying in anyway that we're at _that_ place just yet. My God, I don't want to sound like one of those insane women who only want to get married and have kids…" Jack dropped his hand to hers, a simple touch that stilled her wayward panic and brought with it a moment of serenity.

"I know what you mean," he said softly. "And it's okay. Don't apologise for being who you are. Or who you are not." She sighed, pensive and calm. Before her, the pasta she had ordered had gone almost cold, and she was glad they hadn't decided to dine at some expensive restaurant where the prices would have been scandalous and she'd have felt guilty wasting the food. "Angela… I have this… thing…" his hesitation startled her, and she felt a sinking weight in the pit of her stomach.

"Oh God I knew it was too perfect to be true. What? A sexually transmitted disease? A mental illness?" A chuckle rose in his throat, spilling forth as something of a giggle. She was delighted to hear that he didn't laugh with a girly titter, but rather a bellied laugh that made her smile, despite her anxiousness.

"A family gathering," he said slowly, "with rich society people who have a terrible amount of money, and I was just wondering if you might accompany me…?" He looked at her, his eyes filled with nervous trepidation.

"An official date?" she asked, and the tone of her voice seemed to appease his insecurity. Jack nodded.

"Yeah. If that's what you'd like to call it."

"Sure. I would love to." She downed a mouthful of wine, letting the taste linger on her tongue, and she took the opportunity to watch his face, his rugged handsomeness, the way his eyes, his most prominent feature, became a spiralling kaleidoscope of blues. "Being in a room with pretentious fools… oh well," she shrugged with a smile, "at least it's an excuse to get dressed up and spend ridiculous amounts of money on a new dress." Hodgins chuckled, draining his glass.

"I'd say something clichéd, like you'd look great in a burlap sack, but the truth is, it's a black tie event and you need to wear a dress," he shrugged and she giggled.

"I'm flattered, really," she said, shaking her head. "Thanks for a lovely evening, Jack. It's nice to forget about work. Which is ironic really… how I can be sitting with a work colleague _not_ thinking about work." He shrugged.

"Well, you're not just Angela the Artist." Angela rested her chin in her hand.

"And you're not just Jack the Entomologist." She caught the scent of mild vanilla from the candle and inhaled. "I'd like to leave now."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Standing at her car, she passed her keys across the tip of her thumb nail, not entirely sure what she ought to say to end their evenings. The Jeffersonian's parking lot was already empty, mostly because they spent so long ambling back to the building – taking more time than what was really necessary.

"This might not be our official first date," she said, "but it's the best I've ever had." Jack braced himself against the side of her car, reaching out a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. Angela felt a tremor run along her spine, and she pulled a shaky breath into her lungs.

He leaned forward, much like her did the first time he kissed her, but this time, she took the incentive and pressed her mouth to his, catching him off guard, cupping his face, tasting the wine on his lips. Jack leaned into her, his tongue meeting hers, their bodies pressed close against the October chill. His arm slipped around her waist, drawing her close.

She felt a jolt of arousal shoot through her body, and she wanted to touch him, to know what it felt like to be with him. Her hands danced along the hard planes of his body, mapping the exquisite shape of his tight muscles through his clothes, when he reached out, grabbing her wrist.

"We will Angela," he promised. "But not yet. I want us to have a proper date first." She nodded, brushing her hair from her eyes. He stroked along her cheek with his thumb. "Goodnight," he whispered, touching her lips with his again. "And thank you, Angela. This was the best non-date-date for me, too."

As he left, she wondered what their official date would be like, and trembled at the knowledge that his kiss was merely a prelude of what was to come.


End file.
